DATpokerface

But if he was allowed to decide, the Parlor Car would look even more barren than it does with the minimal decorations you have decided upon. Besides, after Amphoreus you can’t help but to notice the muscle he has built. His body is literally made for carrying heavy boxes!

“You know, we could hang lights on your tail,” you casually suggest to him as you plug the rope of lights into an outlet. 

“No,” is his reply— curt and simple.

“Okay, how about hats on your horns?”

“That is also a no.”

“Guys! Look!” March exclaims across the Parlor Car, sounding rather impressed with herself. You and Dan Heng turn your heads to look at the very unevenly hung garland hanging above the massive windows revealing dozens of stars outside. 

You snicker quietly, impressed by March’s skills, but Dan Heng… He stares. And he keeps staring. You can almost see the inner struggle going in his head. 

Then, he sighs and places the box of decorations on the nearest table surprisingly gently. He then walks over to March and tugs on the garland, fixing the unevenness of it.

“Oh, so you’re decorating now?” you grin at him, having proof of him doing something else than carrying a literal box.

“I’m not,” he says, his tone still as disinterested as before, “it was uneven. I corrected it.” He turns around to let his gaze sweep across the car, eyeing the garlands March has hung; all of them more even than the last one.

March and you exchange smirks behind his back and continue on with your decorations, while Dan Heng walks around fixing March’s decorations first, then yours. Then he suddenly is adding ribbons, baubles and whatnot.

At some point he even helps you hang a glowing Hamster Ball Knight onto a window. His hands cupping yours, like he is teaching you how to place a simple hanging light. His touch makes you gasp inwardly, but he remains stoic and unbothered by it. Almost determined to place the light correctly.

When the three of you are finally done, you stop at the end of the car, admiring the glittering view. You're almost unsure whether there are any benches underneath all the glow and dazzle.

Dan Heng seems conflicted and he sighs, but you catch something akin to a smile on his lips as he says: “It’s funny, every year, I say we’ll keep the decorations simple, and every year we go all out.”

March takes out her camera, snapping plenty of Christmas themed photos of the car, while you and Dan Heng admire your work in silence.

He looks damn good in a white button-up shirt, apron wrapped around his waist, his black hair tied back in a ponytail. He is anything but forgettable, and you find yourself dreading the moment a pirate with more brains than a bucket stumbles into your bakery and recognizes him.

“I’m not doing this,” he groans for the third time, glaring at the heart-shaped cake in front of him like it had personally insulted him.

“Yes, you are, Lucci,” you chirp as you place a bag of ingredients on a nearby counter; you just came from the nearest market after running out of butter and other important ingredients. And now you are amused by his defiance of the whole cake decorating business. “You already piped three dozen cupcakes this morning — you even made a rose.”

His eye twitches. “It was a swirl. I was testing the consistency.”

“Sure,” you say gleefully. “A swirl shaped like a rose. Totally accidental.”

He clicks his tongue and growls, returning to pipe: Happy Birthday, Best Girl 💖 onto the cake. It had been ordered by one of the Donquixote pirates and is probably the girliest cake you’ve ever seen — full of glitter, sparkles, and rainbows.

And he is the one who decorated it from start to finish.

You tried to write the text yourself, but your handwriting is laughable compared to his gorgeous swirls. Who would’ve guessed: Rob Lucci, the deadly Cipher Pol operative, leaning over a pink heart-shaped cake, icing tiny hearts with terrifying precision.

The bell chimes again, and the pirate who ordered the girly cake walks in with a surprised smile. His eyes land on the cake, which Lucci quickly — and carefully — slides into a container.

“Well I’ll be damned,” the pirate exhales, dropping the correct amount of money on the counter. “Who knew the quiet one was so talented with his hands?”

You hold your breath as you glance cautiously at Lucci, who now clenches his jaw like he’s ready to pounce and tear the pirate apart. But he doesn’t.

The pirate leaves, humming cheerily, carrying the cake in his arms.

And when the door closes behind him, silence thickens the air — so heavy you wonder if you’ve gone deaf.

Then, Lucci’s head turns to you slowly, his piercing eyes nearly glow with danger. His stare alone pins you in place, and you can’t move a muscle.

“This never happened. Do you understand? If I find out you mentioned this to anyone, I’ll…”

He doesn’t finish the sentence. Instead, he fixes the cuffs of his shirt like a man barely hanging onto the last threads of his dignity. Then he walks into the back to check on the oven and the next batch of cupcakes.

You release the breath you’ve been holding prisoner and turn to the counter where he stood just moments ago — and there it is:

The most perfect, tiniest rose, piped onto the side of a cutting board.

And something gleeful bubbles within you — because he absolutely did that on purpose.

For a while, the two of you return to your bakery duties in focused silence. He begins working on tarts, while you take the cupcakes out of the oven and start on their toppings.

The door to the back opens, and Kaku steps in, fully dressed in disguise to blend in with the locals. He’s been off doing who-knows-what, but he brightens when he sees you baking something delicious again.

He’s almost always too eager to taste test.

Kaku quickly glances in Lucci’s direction, amused to see the man actually taking the bakery seriously.

“Smells like you’re actually baking something in here,” he states the obvious, flashing a wide grin at you.

“You’d be surprised how good he is,” you chuckle, elbow-deep in blue buttercream.

And suddenly, there's a drop in temperature in the back room. A chill runs down your spine — even Kaku looks caught off guard — but Lucci doesn’t flinch. He calmly resumes arranging the mini tarts in a perfectly precise order.

Kaku sighs and turns his attention back to you, clearly wise enough not to poke Lucci while he’s concentrating on something as mundane as pastries.

“Did you change your hairstyle? You’re practically glowing today.”

The buttercream bowl in your hands hits the counter with a loud clank, and you stare at him — stunned and almost speechless.

“Are you flirting with me?”

“Is it working?” he replies smoothly, with a wink.

You don’t get the chance to respond, because a loud crack echoes through the bakery.

Both of you turn to look at Lucci, who has crushed a cupcake box with one hand. Not in a dramatic, obvious way — because that would imply he actually cared.

His fingers flex around the box once. Twice. Then he tosses the crushed remains into the trash without a word and calmly resumes his arrangement, his focus so sharp it could cut glass.

Kaku glances at Lucci, then at you. Then back at Lucci again. He lets out a sheepish laugh with a nervous edge — like someone who just stepped on something expensive and broke it by accident.

“Okay, no flirting in the bakery. Got it.”

You bite your lip to stop yourself from grinning.

Lucci finally speaks — voice cold as frostbite.

“Get. Out.”

Kaku stares at the man, mouth ajar just enough to show how absolutely shocked he is. He raises his hands in surrender and mutters something about “surveillance” before slipping out—leaving the two of you alone once again.

Silence settles like a heavy blanket, deliberate and thick with tension.

You glance in Lucci’s direction before turning back to your bowl of buttercream. He doesn’t look at you. He’s still focused entirely on the tarts, like they might explode if handled improperly.

He clearly has no intention of speaking—but you catch the sharp clench of his jaw when your gaze lingers on him too long.

You break the silence, aiming for casual: “Jealousy doesn’t suit you.”

“I’m not,” he snaps—just a little too fast to be convincing. “I’m focusing on the mission, unlike some people.”

“I am focused,” you begin, heart skipping at the edge in his voice. “I think I can handle the mission and a little flirting on the side—”

“You won’t,” he cuts in, straightening his back to face you. There’s a scowl on his face, like your words personally offended him.

“Excuse me?”

He doesn’t reply at first—but something dangerous flickers in his eyes as they lock with yours.

You huff. “Why do you care?” You hadn’t meant to flirt with Kaku. Not really. But now you want to know—why shouldn’t you?

“Distraction,” he mutters, the word tight with strain, his expression unreadable.

You raise an eyebrow, confused.

“I care about distractions,” he says again, more quietly now, turning away like saying it aloud was somehow an admission.

You tilt your head. “Am I a distraction?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just sighs—a long, restrained breath—and then says:

“Just focus on the buttercream. I’ll handle the piping.”

And with that, he walks off. But as he turns, you catch the softest pink blooming at the nape of his neck.

Distraction, huh?

Some of your coworkers have even dared to tease that he swings by just to see you—something you very clearly refuse to believe. Although… his shopping basket has always been filled with an oddly random variety of things.

Now, you can only hope it’s not him again. Your heart honestly can’t take it at this rate.

As you crouch by the bottom shelf to stock more cereals, a shadow stretches over you. Maybe even over the whole aisle—you don’t know, and you don’t want to look. But your heart has already leapt into your throat.

“Careful,” comes his voice—Thomas Andre, as your coworkers and the recent news would call him. “Something might fall on your head if you’re not paying attention.”

You stand up, already sighing. “Good evening to you too.”

He flashes a smile, radiating that proud aura of his. “Aw, you missed me?”

You don’t answer him. Instead, your gaze shifts to his shopping basket.

“You’re planning to cook a steak with shaving cream and ginger?” you ask, amused by the chaotic assortment of items he’s chosen this time.

“Nah, I’m just buying what I like,” he replies with a smirk, pushing his sunglasses—comically small in his massive hand—up onto his head so you can see his eyes.

“So you’re here because…” You narrow your eyes. “You want me to ask what you’re doing?”

“And you just did.” He leans in closer, and that uncomfortable flutter in your chest returns in full force.

You roll your eyes. “That’s a new low for you.”

He doesn’t seem fazed by your comment. Instead, he leans in just a few inches closer, voice dropping to a whisper: “Maybe. But I’ll find a new low for you next time—see if I can make you blush again.”

Your mouth falls open, ready to protest, but he’s already backed away, sliding his sunglasses down like nothing happened.

“The room’s for two, so you should be fine,” he reassures you with a slightly annoyed undertone as the two of you stand in the elevator with your luggage.

Yeah, that’s surely your only concern. Nothing to do with possibly ending up in the hospital from a concussion. Just the thought of seeing more chalk makes you shudder.

The room you landed is actually rather nice; it has two beds, a couch, and even a bathtub—which he begins filling immediately after arriving. His reasoning? He likes bathing while pondering equations that would probably fry your brain.

You toss your bag onto the bed he hasn’t claimed, and as soon as it lands, there’s a crash. The mattress collapses to the floor, revealing a gaping hole in the middle that had been hidden by the covers.

“Seriously?”

You feel terror rooting itself in your limbs. Great. Now you’re screwed. Maybe the front desk has a spare bed lying around. Maybe.

The couch doesn’t look inviting either.

You mutter a curse and call reception, grumbling about the broken bed. And just as you’re explaining the massive hole in the mattress, Ratio steps out of the bathroom. Naked.

Well—almost naked. There’s a towel wrapped around his waist. Still.

Despite him being technically covered, your brain short-circuits.

“Hello?” the receptionist's voice crackles through the phone after you stopped mid-sentence.

You don’t know where to look. His marble statue of a body? Or the frown on his face? Definitely the face. Yeah. Sure.

Despite your best efforts to keep your gaze from wandering too obviously, he squints at you.

“There wasn’t enough bath salt,” he says, displeased.

You feel heat crawl up your neck.

“That’s—”

He arches a brow. “What are you doing?”

Like a slap to the face, your mind clears. “My bed is broken.”

And then—just for a moment—you catch it. A glint of amusement in his eyes.

Almost like... he counted on it.

He clicks his tongue. “That’s good news.”

“How is that good news?!” you gasp, unconsciously hanging up on the receptionist. “The couch is terrible too!”

Ratio presses the book he’s been carrying against your lips to shut you up. Your temples throb from the sudden, white-hot rage bubbling inside you.

“I sleep a lot better when I’m not alone.”

He turns, heading back toward the bathroom—but pauses, glancing over his shoulder.

“Besides,” he adds, “I don’t think you’d actually mind that.”

You open and close your mouth, at a complete loss, before finally managing a shaky breath. “And how do you assume that?”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he says, smirk curving at his lips, “when you think I’m not looking.”

And just like that, you’re speechless—while he walks away wearing a smile like he’s just won first place in a competition only he knew was happening.

You hate that he is right.

Heejin turns to you after giving instructions to the group. Her glare could ignite trees. You’re too out of it to be useful—her magic still swirling through your veins, methodically chasing out the last of the poison.

For once, you feel truly helpless in front of your best friend. And worse: like you’ve failed her.

“Sorry” isn’t going to cut it. You would be dead if she hadn’t been there.

Her hands settle on her hips. No hint of her usual teasing smile. “You are going to get checked at a hospital,” she says, her tone sharper than usual—she’s livid. “Just to make sure there’s no poison left. Or anything else.”

It’s hard to argue with her. She’s right—your injury was a serious one, while the others only walked away with cuts and bruises. So, without protest, you head to the nearest hospital, still feeling her glare burning into your back the whole way there and you hear her mutter, “You really scared me there,” as you leave.

It’s still early in the day. Normally, you’d go straight to headquarters to file your report, but this time you get to enjoy the perks of hunter healthcare. Nurses wheel you into a clean room and park you in a soft bed while doctors run their tests.

The hospital feels warm and welcoming after hours spent wading through mud and slime, your gear soaked and cold. There’s no blood or rot. No lurking danger. Everything is so clean. And the bed, although nothing like your own, is so soft you could sink into it—you briefly consider napping in the safety of this room.

But instead, you pick up your phone. Heejin could call or text. Or Mister Joo.

Your thumb moves absently, and somehow you end up on Baek’s messages. You bite your lip as that familiar pressure builds in your chest.

That man.

Thinking about him got you distracted enough to get hurt. Nearly killed. You’ll never move on if you keep clinging to his stupid messages.

You stare at the short conversation thread for a few seconds. Not much was said. And yet, it still lingers like an echo. You never thought you’d feel this much for him—not after just one night of pretending something more than friendship.

You reread his message. Once. Twice. Hoping to hear his voice in your head, whispering the words like he’s nearby.

This is for your own good.

Your fingers tremble as they hover over the phone.

And then you hit delete.

An empty chuckle escapes your throat. You should be writing your report—not waiting on bloodwork and exorcising ghosts. ---- Hours pass as you slowly doze off in the bed, your aching body soaking up every bit of warmth and comfort it can after your trip through the gate.

There’s a knock at the door, and soon Heejin walks in with two drinks in hand—one canned coffee, the other your usual bland hospital juice and a change of clothes hanging in a bag on her shoulder. Her earlier fury seems to have mellowed into something softer, though the way she looks at you still screams of not pulling stunts like that again. Ever.

“Good news!” she chirps, handing you the juice and the bag, which you accept with a tiny frown. “You’re clear of poison, fungi, and all the fun swamp parasites.”

You reply with a listless, flat: “Yay.”

“They did say you’ve got a hole where your survival instinct used to be, though.”

She stares at you, deadly serious, for a few beats—until she bursts into laughter. You shake your head, lips twitching as you try to bite back a chuckle. Yeah, you deserved that one.

“Anyway. Get up. Let’s go.”

“So I’m good to leave?”

“Yup. And I’ve got the perfect medicine to get you back in action.”

You raise a brow. “A ten-hour nap? Snacks? Shitty movie night?”

She boops your nose. “Soju.”

You groan, but the smile breaks through anyway. “That sounds so unhealthy. I mean—literally getting discharged right now.”

Still… it does sound good. Maybe not healing, exactly. But numbing. Comforting in the way only bad decisions can be.

“First round’s on me!” she winks, already grabbing your things.

You barely have time to sip the juice and change into casuals before she’s dragging you out of the bed and toward whatever chaos she has planned next.

You find yourselves at a trendy-looking bar, perched on the rooftop of a tall building, overlooking a city bathed in hues of gold and soft pink, fading into regal purple. The view stretches far into the skyline through the wall-sized windows.

The bar is fairly quiet—low, smooth jazz hums beneath the casual chatter and laughter. It’s not the weekend, and the patrons seem more interested in sipping their drinks and soaking in the evening than partying away the weight of the past week.

You and Heejin stick out like sore thumbs in your casual outfits—clearly, neither of you planned to end up at a bar when you woke up this morning. Comfort won over dancefloor glam. You can’t help but feel a little unsure of your place here, especially compared to the sleek button-ups and polished looks of the other customers.

Heejin eagerly picks up the drink menu. Maybe she needs a drink just as badly as you do—after all, she did pull you back from the brink of death.

“Oh, the cocktails look so good,” she trills, eyes skimming the list of colorful cocktails.

You slump into the comfortable seat by one of the massive windows. Everything outside feels distant and sleepy—or maybe you just haven’t fully woken up after your time in the hospital.

“I thought we came here for the soju.”

“Well, no one’s stopping us from having both,” Heejin says, peeking from behind the menu and waggling her eyebrows suggestively. “Don’t you think we deserve cocktails?”

There’s no use fighting her when she’s clearly made you her evening mission.

“Fine, as long as we don’t drink too much,” you sigh, though you can’t help but smile a little. “We have work tomorrow.”

Heejin promptly orders the two most outrageously elaborate cocktails she can find—along with soju. The drinks arrive at your table rather fast—thanks to it being a weekday. And when the girliest cocktail is placed in front of you, you gasp.

“Alright,” Heejin says, picking up her drink and lifting it high, “let’s toast!”

“To what?” you ask, your mouth suddenly feeling rather dry.

She pauses to think for a moment, then declares: “Not dying!”

That one forces a half-choked laugh out of your throat. “Not dying.”

You take the first sip of your very pink and lavish drink, and you’re taken aback by its sweetness—it almost pours down your throat like liquid magic. The drink practically forces you to feel better, and you can’t help but chuckle at the cute little kitty cocktail stirrer bobbing in the glass.

“There she is!” Heejin exclaims with a wink. Her eyes go wide as she sips her cocktail through a straw. “Oh, this is way too sweet.”

The two of you sit, drink, and chat casually while slowly finishing your disgustingly sweet cocktails—eventually moving on to the soju. You don’t talk about the gate, or work, or anything related to hunting or dying. You begin to feel more relaxed than you have in ages. Maybe it’s the soju—maybe it’s Heejin. But whatever it is, it’s working.

It’s your turn to order the second round, and you get cocktails that look the funniest—and of course, more soju.

“What do we toast to this time?” she ponders aloud.

“Hmm… how about hot bartenders?” you giggle, feeling the gentle buzz of alcohol lighting up your veins and muscles.

You earn a quizzical lift of her brows before Heejin turns to glance toward the bar counter.

“Oh wow,” she replies. “To hot bartenders.”

More time passes with your new cocktails—ones that turn out to be unexpectedly spicy. The two of you laugh, nearly tearing up in the process, when Heejin tries to pour more soju into your cups and ends up splashing it across the table—only to be rescued by a hot bartender. When he returns with a fresh bottle of soju and leaves the two of you alone, you catch Heejin eyeing his behind with a sly, appreciative stare.

You narrow your eyes smugly at her. “Maybe you should ask him out.”

“Nu-uh. Not leaving my girl alone tonight,” Heejin says, taking a generous gulp of soju. “Though I could ask for his number before we leave.”

You follow suit, emptying your own glass at an alarming rate.

“Thirsty?” she asks, raising a brow at your eagerness. She tops up your glass again. You nod, the warmth of the alcohol making you feel more relaxed—and maybe a little too comfortable. And the plan to not get too drunk discarded a few soju cups ago.

Outside, the sky has darkened completely, and the city below glows like stardust under obsidian skies. The rooftop view is just as magical as your earlier pink cocktail.

“Yeah, after today I really needed this,” you admit, your tone dipping into something a touch more somber. “Because I—”

She grabs your wrist across the table, cutting off the thought before it can fully form. Her brows furrow in quiet warning, steering you away from the emotional swamp.

A beat of silence. Then you both hear soft crying from a nearby table. You glance over to see a young woman being comforted by a friend—clearly dumped.

“Oh, fuck no.”

You smile, feeling a surprising wave of compassion, like you've been there just moments ago. Which you totally haven’t. You haven’t broken up with anyone. Technically.

“Nah, I’ll drink to that,” you say, lifting your glass in a tiny toast before downing it like it’s tequila.

“Really?” Heejin gives you a look—equal parts irritated and confused. “Fine.”

She follows suit... and immediately refills both of your glasses with a dramatic flourish. You can’t take your eyes off that soju bottle after the last spillage.

“Honestly though, I should start charging you every time I save your ass— which isn’t often, but it did happen way too many times today,” she heaves a dramatic sigh as she carefully puts the bottle away and throws you a sideways glance. “Or at least I could get to know what kind of monologue went through your head when you tried to solo that boss like some brooding, overpowered anime protagonist.”

You lean your back against the chair, folding your arms over your chest protectively, and gaze out into the distance.

“See? You’re doing it again,” Heejin points a finger at you, though you spot a smile tugging at her lips.

“You wouldn’t get it.”

“Try me. We’ve got plenty of alcohol here— and time.” She leans in closer, as if some unknown power has made you powerless to speak your truth with a normal voice.

Maybe you could tell her and leave his name out of it. She probably wouldn’t mind hearing the full truth, but you’re unsure whether you can handle it.

“So, uh…” You glance around, avoiding her inquisitive glare across the table. “There’s just this one guy, and I sort of… thought about his abs. And smile. The smile part is important.”

She cocks a brow, incredulous—making you squirm in your seat. She’s silent for a few seconds, like she’s unsure whether to spontaneously combust or just pour another one.

Then, finally, she opens her mouth and says in a tone of extreme disappointment: “Seriously? You were about to get shanked by a fucking lizardman, and you were thinking about someone’s abs?!”

You quickly grab your cup of soju and drink. The warmth of the alcohol does barely anything at this point, not when your whole body feels like it’s an erupting volcano. Heejin shakes her head and drinks too, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol.

“And this is related to everything that’s been going on with you lately?” she asks, almost hissing. You answer with a very hesitant, short-lived nod. “So there was a man?”

This is the moment you’ve been dreading for a while now—admitting that something happened. But you know you can’t escape her scrutiny forever. The least you can do is omit the details of your fake boyfriend. He has nice abs and a great smile, but so do plenty of guys… right?!

“Just one night,” you huff, cheeks glowing with heat.

She tilts her head and gestures subtly toward the bar counter. Not long after, a bartender arrives—already bringing a new bottle of soju. He places it on your table with a small nod, then leaves the two of you alone.

Heejin goes silent. Too silent. It’s unnerving. She’s rarely this quiet.

As you wait for her to speak, you reach for the bottle and pour fresh shots of soju for both of you. She opens her mouth and draws a long inhale, nearly chilling your spine with how dramatic she acts.

“Okay. First of all—who?” she demands, taking a sip from her soju like it’s fuel she needs to process the whole thing. “Second: how dare you keep a one-night stand from me? I thought we were best friends!” She slams her palm against the table and drinks again.

You smile at her awkwardly, wishing you could melt into a puddle and sink through the floor. But such are not your powers, and you probably couldn’t escape furious Heejin with your drunk-addled stealth.

“Do I need to question every delivery guy at your building or something?”

“He wasn’t a delivery guy—”

“Then who?!”

“I can’t say,” you reply with an apologetic frown. “I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

She sighs and mutters something along the lines of: “His dick must have been magical if you’re this heartbroken over a one-night stand.” Which, of course, makes you burst out laughing. There’s kindness and relief in her expression, and the furrow in her brows softens.

Heejin can’t keep up her furious act for long before she joins you in your tipsy giggling and cackling, the both of you feeling the cheerful bubbling of soju and unknown cocktails coursing through your veins. 

“All right, all right,” she finally manages to say, steadying her breath after laughing uncontrollably, “mystery man can stay a mystery.” You finish your cup of soju once again before she adds, “For now.”

“Good luck with that, detective,” you hum with a smirk playing on your lips, pouring more into your cups. You won’t share this piece of information anytime soon anyway.

“To good mysteries, dumb decisions, and hot delivery men,” she clinks her soju cup against yours with a wide smile—the one you know so well, now enhanced by obvious drunkenness.

“Definitely to hot delivery men,” you add mysteriously, swallowing back a chuckle.

The two of you decide to order more cocktails, and this time they’re actually glowing and green—like they’re radioactive. But at this point, you’re too drunk to care if the drink is radioactive. Your tongue yearns to taste it, and your throat craves to swallow it.

“This better not be spicy,” you grumble, still shuddering from your last round of cocktails.

“Oh, you’ll live,” Heejin replies casually. “It’s not the first time you almost died today, after all.”

The green, glowing drinks are surprisingly pleasant. Not too sweet, and definitely not spicy. You’re unsure whether they have alcohol in them at all, but Heejin reassures you of their potency.

After a few more sips, laughs, and silly jokes—such as “Sometimes I think about quitting hunting and starting my own street food chain,” or naming which of your guild members are most likely to survive a zombie apocalypse—you both settle into a pleasant, drunken haze.

You avoid saying Baek’s name, because you feel like it might fall from your lips like a sinful whisper. And you’re lucky; Heejin ends up naming him at some point in her survivor list instead.

Eventually, you excuse yourself to the restroom, leaving Heejin alone at the table. She jokingly threatens to drink all the soju in the bar while you’re gone, and you chuckle. You leave your belongings behind for her to watch—it’s much easier to wobble your way across the bar without your things anyway.

And the moment you disappear behind the corner to the restrooms, Heejin’s delighted smile twists into something far more dangerous. Cunning. Her gaze shifts to your side of the table—specifically to your phone, resting face down almost innocently, like a lamb unaware of a wolf waiting for its moment to strike.

She scoops it up with the grace of a seasoned thief, humming to herself as she bites back a hiccup.

Detective Heejin is on a case, she thinks smugly. She unlocks your phone in seconds. You’ve shared that security pattern with her one too many times while ordering food or showing funny cat pictures.

Delivery guy, my ass.

She starts with your messages. Nothing juicy—just receipts, a thumbs-up emoji from your dad, some “on my way” texts from guildmates. Boring.

Her eyes flick to your contacts list, and that’s when she sees it.

A tiger emoji. No name. No surname. No context.

Who even does that? she narrows her eyes. Coworker? Another hunter? Or was the sex so mind-shattering that he earned an emoji?

Only one way to find out.

She opens the chat. No recent messages. Suspicious if not intriguing. She starts to type.

>> u lookedd so cool last tim i saw u. so cool i nearrrly ded thinking abt ur abz

Send.

She bites her lip. Heart pounding. No reply. No read. 

>> r u evn a real tigr or is it a metaphr?

>> mby snd pics of those abz

She nearly wheezes. Her fingers are trembling from the thrill of the hunt. The grammatical collapse is just a minor detail. She takes a victorious sip of soju to calm her nerves, to stop her body from shivering expectantly.

>> thinkin about ur stupid prfct teeth

>> hope ur pllow is warm on both sids 

The messages keep flying, barely coherent now, but filled with chaotic bravado. Then—

Read.

The screen lights up. A breath catches in her throat. Her smile stretches, wicked.

The tiger is typing…

And then—

“Heejin, what are you doing with my phone?” Your voice is so sharp it could cut stone. She freezes, slowly looking up. Your face is the definition of horror. Pale. Wide-eyed. Like you just walked in on a crime scene.

Because you did.

“I can totally explain—” Heejin lifts up your phone like she’s been caught stealing something. You feel like all the air has left your lungs, your body grown numb. Your alcohol-addled brain screams in panic, drowning out any coherent thought.

“What did you do?”

She’s frozen, but the unsure, wavering smile betrays her defenses. She knows she’s been caught, and no matter what story she could spin, the evidence is right there. The only thing she knows is to act fast—like sliding the phone across the table might somehow erase the crime.

Except the way she meant to slide the phone is nothing compared to the actual action. Somehow her fingers hit the screen unintentionally, tapping the call button.

The phone lands on your side of the table, revealing that it’s now trying to call the tiger emoji.

Heejin’s eyes widen, nearly plate-sized, and she freezes—her hand suspended midair in sheer bewilderment.

You look down at the phone, processing what it shows… but your soul is already in the process of leaving your body.

“Did you just—”

“OH MY GOD,” Heejin gasps.

The phone is ringing. You lunge for it, scrambling to end the call.

One ring.

Second ring.

The phone slips from your hand like it’s possessed by a malevolent spirit—refusing to be picked up.

Third ring.

Heejin manages to push it just out of your reach.

And then—

Click.

A familiar voice you haven’t properly heard in days—low, husky—echoes across the table from your phone.

“Hello?”

This is it. 

This is how you die. Drunk. In a bar. In the middle of the week.

Maybe you should fake a heart attack. Maybe ask Heejin to help stage it—just long enough to get buried with your phone, facedown, forever. Because Heejin recognizes the voice instantly. and her jaw drops.

She stares at you, then slowly turns her wide-eyed gaze to the phone like it’s a cursed object.

“Hello?” he says again, voice lower now, tinged with something like concern. “…Is it you?”

You’re going to combust. Spontaneously disintegrate. She doesn’t even need to guess anymore—she’s connecting dots faster than you could ever bury them.

You finally snatch the phone back and end the call with a trembling hand.

And you swallow, the shame so thick in your throat you can barely breathe. You know you have some explaining to do…

To both Heejin and him.

And you don’t want to do either.

Maybe you should sell all your possessions and move to another country. You are that ashamed.

“That was BAEK YOON-HO,” Heejin finally manages to spit out in a voice like something snapped inside her brain.

You earn a few annoyed groans and pointed glares from nearby tables. Even the bartender perks up behind the counter.

“Heejin, not so loud—” you try to hush her, but it’s useless. Even the moon has probably heard her shriek by now.

“THAT’S OUR BOSS.”

“I know,” you hiss back, trying to shut her up.

She opens and closes her mouth, shifts in her chair, folds and unfolds her arms.

Then finally, she exhales. The longest, deepest sigh imaginable.

“…Did the two of you—”

You’re unable to hide it now, not after everything that’s just been revealed. You shouldn’t have Baek’s phone number in the first place; he’s the guildmaster. He doesn’t even usually handle direct hunter matters.

You swallow hard and nod, unable to form words.

Heejin finishes her soju in one go. Refills. Downs it again. You can’t tell if she feels betrayed, shocked, or deeply entertained.

“Heejin?” you ask, unsure where you stand in her eyes now.

There’s a beat of silence.

And then she opens her mouth.

“So how was he?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You know what I mean.” She chuckles darkly, dangerously.

“How. Was. He?”

You begin to wonder if what happened between you was just one mind-blowing dream. A result of your horny imagination at best.

Besides, the raid prep keeps him busy too. He’s often out of the office, training with the other S-ranks.

Finally, it’s time to actually enter a gate. You haven’t felt this alive in a while — mostly because you figure you could unleash some pent-up wrath on the hostile enemies. Sure, you're technically there to help train new hunters, but surely no one will complain if one or two monsters are unexpectedly reduced to pudding.

That morning, you wake up slightly groggy — dreams still beckoning you back to bed. Standing in the shower, you bite the inside of your cheek. You need to be fully awake. Despite the gate being at the lower end of C-rank, and you being a B-rank, there’s always a chance things could go sideways.

I want to feel you lose control.

Your legs shiver as the memory of him slams into you without warning. You bite down so hard this time that you taste blood.

“Fuck,” you groan against the cold tiles of your shower. “It was just one night. One mistake.”

That’s all it was. Just two people who needed friction and—

You scrub your skin a little harder, like you can scrape off the dull ache lodged somewhere beneath your ribs. The water is already colder than you like, but maybe that’s the point. Maybe the chill will erase the heat of his hands on your hips, the weight of him on top of you, the burn of his mouth on your skin—

You shake your head sharply and turn off the water.

Breathe.

You don’t need this. Not today. He probably doesn’t think about you when he showers.

Can’t.

So why should you?

You’re over this — you remind yourself. There’s no need to beat yourself up over a tiny slip. ---- It’s a warm day outside, the kind where the sun almost pulls everything beneath it into a soft, golden embrace. As you approach the gate where the planned raid is set to begin, a familiar silhouette stands out among the small gathering of hunters.

Park Heejin.

The raven-haired B-rank healer is clearly expecting you, even while chatting easily with a few of the C- and D-rank hunters assigned to the raid. She’s glowing, radiant—like she’s on a first-name basis with the cheerful ball of fire in the sky.

And you?

You’re the opposite. An approaching storm, all rumbling silence and thunder waiting to strike.

“Why are you here?” you ask as soon as you’re close enough.

“Good morning to you too,” she replies, her smile faltering just a little.

You didn’t think she’d be up for joining a gate raid so soon after the Red Gate incident. In truth, you’d looked forward to this one moment of peace—one raid without Heejin's careful eyes prying into your mess of a heart.

Without her asking about… him.

She pulls you aside, away from the rest of the group. Their laughter floats over to you, light and distant, like something happening in another world.

“I came because you are here,” she says.

Your brow lifts, puzzled.

“You’re worrying me,” she admits, and there’s a quiet tug at your chest. “Even when you’re here, your mind is clearly somewhere else.”

“It’s nothing,” you mutter. “I’m better now.”

At least, that’s what you want to believe.

Heejin tilts her head. 

“Isn’t it a little early for you to jump back into gates? After what happened with Kim Chul and—”

She breaks you off with a soft chuckle, but it’s missing something—maybe her usual confident edge.

“But you’re here,” she says, her smile returning like sunlight after cloud cover. “And I know you’ll look after me, just like I look after you.”

It hits you like a blunt weapon to the gut—her honesty. She’s not wrong. You would look after her. But you hadn’t expected her to force her way in like this, not when you’d been trying so hard to keep everyone out. 

“Fine.” You give up, there's no point in wrestling with her when she's so determined to follow you into an upcoming battle. At the very least, you have a healer you know and trust. 

“Awww thanks,” she beams, clapping her hands together, “y’know we haven't been in a gate together for a while.”

“That's because you never let me have fun.”

“And you're too easily distracted.” ---- Whatever lies beyond a gate is always a mystery. That swirling, circular portal keeps its secrets well; no one can see what’s waiting on the other side. And yet, there's a thrill to stepping through it. Like you're an explorer diving headfirst into an unknown, hostile world.

This time, you’re greeted by damp, heavy air. Above, the sky churns with thick clouds, bruised in ominous shades of purple. Withered trees loom around you, their skeletal silhouettes illuminated by the soft glow of flickering lanterns and drifting fireflies. The silence is alive—broken only by the hum of insects and the occasional croak of a frog, distant but sharp.

“Wonder who we’re up against?” Heejin murmurs as you both slow your pace, the atmosphere pressing in like a held breath.

“I don’t know,” you say, drawing your dual daggers with a soft rasp. “But stay alert.”

Whatever this place is, one thing is certain: a dungeon isn’t cleared until its boss is dead.

In the distance, you spot the ruins of what you assume was once an ancient temple — or maybe a palace. You, Heejin, and the rest of the group begin to follow a trail deeper into the dungeon. The first timers in your group are huddled together in the middle of the party, visibly shaking nervously, but Heejin reassures them with soft words and calm gestures. Meanwhile, your eyes never stop scanning the treeline.

The silence is unsettling. By now, you should’ve been ambushed at least five times.

“I’ll scout ahead,” you tell the team before activating your stealth so no one has a chance to protest. This is something you’re used to— never straying too far off from the main party, while figuring out the possible enemy formations.

“Stay safe,” Heejin calls softly behind you.

Part of you had hoped to wreck havoc alone. It is the perfect chance to unleash that pent-up frustration without being watched or judged. But since the dungeon is already behaving differently from what you’re used to, you decide to play it safe. For now.

You slip toward the ruins, your silhouette becoming one with the shadows and as you approach a half-burned doorway, you hear chanting — like you’ve stumbled into an ancient ritual. You follow the sound, your footfalls muffled by your gear and enhanced stealth. The rest of the group stays within your peripheral vision—just close enough in case things go sideways.

You take a steady breath, calming your heartbeat. Even a hint of hesitation can become deadly.

The chanting grows louder. Light flickers across a ruined stone wall, covered in vines long withered, petals dark and lifeless—almost burnt to charcoal.

At another doorway—half-crumbled from erosion, fire, and time—you halt. Leaning your back against the damp, moss-slick wall, you feel the cold bite through your gear and send shivers down your spine. You take a short breather; it’s a good time to prepare and calm your nerves. You can’t hold your stealth forever.

Silence.

The chanting cuts off. Even the swamp’s chorus of chirps and croaks fades into nothing. Goosebumps rise along your arms.

You cautiously peek around the corner. One tall, blue-scaled lizardman stands guard with its back to you—a perfect setup for someone with your skillset. You’ve never fought one before. Everything you know comes from books and online reports.

Its scales, which should shimmer a deep cobalt, are dull—almost gray—with strange cracks running across them. Sickly? Mutated? You narrow your eyes.

Biting your lip, you steady your grip and move into striking position. Your heart hammers with anticipation and the familiar high of a clean ambush. You shuffle into place, feet silent, daggers ready.

Strike.

Both blades pierce deep into its back, sliding between the scaled plates.

Its shriek is sharp and shrill, rattling through the silence. Blood spurts from the twin wounds, thick and blackish-blue. You hold your breath, yank one dagger free, and drive it down again.

The lizardman crashes to the stone floor with a wet thud, dragging you down with it. A faint sizzle catches your attention as the body beneath you grows unanimated. 

Too easy.

Way too easy.

A stinging sensation blooms in your forearm and shoulder as the sizzling continues. You glance down—tiny bubbles boil through your armor.

“Shit,” you curse under your breath, scrambling off the corpse. You wipe your blades on its ragged clothing, the blood smearing across the metal like ink. For a moment, you worry your weapons might give in to the same corrosion.

You don’t get to celebrate the kill—or panic about your skin melting off—when you hear footsteps. Multiple. Fast.

You wince, almost activating your stealth again, but then you see her.

Heejin.

She appears in the doorway, face pale as ash, and rushes to you without hesitation. She kneels beside you, hands already glowing with green light as she assesses the damage.

You pant, surrendering to her care, eyes darting to the other hunters gathering behind her.

“Lizardmen,” you huff, motioning to the corpse with your good arm. “But something’s off about them.”

Heejin frowns as she examines your injury. “This is a nasty corrosion,” she mutters, lips thinning in concentration. “Might leave a mark, but it should fade in a few days.”

Warmth flows from her fingers, wrapping your arm in a glow that soothes the sting. It’s such a stark contrast to the cold, unfriendly air of the dungeon that you exhale without realizing you’d been holding your breath.

“It shouldn’t have been that easy,” you murmur. The corrosive blood is just a symptom—the real problem is deeper.

Heejin pulls her hands back, hesitating for a beat. Then, turning to the rest of the team, she calls out, “Watch out for the blood!”

Her grip tightens briefly on your good arm before you can pull away.

“That means you too.”

“I know,” you groan.

“So no running off on your own.”

“I was scouting,” you protest with an eye roll.

She chuckles, but there’s no weight behind it. Not this time.

Your arm and shoulder feel like they’re completely new body parts— even though you know she didn’t go all in with the healing to preserve her mana. You sigh and turn to walk further into the room.

So much for clearing your head inside a gate when even the enemies bleed poison. ---- Just as you expected after your first encounter, the rest of the lizardmen are just as easy to kill—and just as deadly to touch. Their corrosive blood leaves a mark on everything it touches.

After clearing a chamber full of those half-dead reptiles, your group decides to take a break. It’s been a few hours since you entered the dungeon, though it feels more like minutes.

Maybe that’s the adrenaline.

You leave the fresh hunters and Heejin to rest while you take watch, perched on the edge of a ruined building, overlooking what appears to be a decaying city swallowed by withered jungle and shadow. Lizardmen lurk in the cracks below, poison humming through their veins.

Sitting still makes you anxious. Killing things was easier. Now that you're not moving, you're left alone with your thoughts—and they circle back to that dull, familiar numbness. Maybe it’s your body too, aching from all the stealthing and blade-work. But it’s your heart that feels the dullest.

Did you really break up with a fake boyfriend? That sounds ridiculous. Pathetic, even.

“Fucking Yoon-Ho,” you mutter under your breath, and toss a pebble you found on the rooftop.

“Who’s fucking?”

You nearly jump. Your head snaps toward the voice, and there’s Heejin, failing spectacularly to hide her grin.

“No one,” you sigh, your shoulders sagging as she sits beside you. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”

After she patched you up, the group had gone through wave after wave of lizardmen—and others hadn’t been so lucky with their injuries. You’ve all learned to fight more carefully, but the blood is still a problem. You can’t rely on the mages to torch every monster before it bleeds.

She sits down next to you and leans her head against your good shoulder. The two of you stare into the distance. A loud shriek echoes across the swamp, but it’s too far away for either of you to take up arms—or care.

“I can rest here so you won’t be brooding all alone.”

You scoff, amused by her persistence. Brooding, huh? You can’t really deny it.

Heejin pulls away, resting her hands behind her on the rooftop, leaning back just enough to admire the ominous, dark sky. “I know I joke a lot, but I’m really worried about you.”

That should be your cue to leave—but you don’t. Your legs suddenly feel like they weigh a ton.

“You haven’t really been the same since, well… that Monday,” she says, glancing at you, her brows furrowed. “And no offense, but you’re not exactly subtle.”

You quirk a brow at her, mildly confused, then exhale—long and slow, like you’ve been holding it in for hours.

“Didn’t think I’d have to be subtle about something that wasn’t even real.”

Now she’s the one who looks confused. Somehow, watching the million questions flicker across her face amuses you. You’ve never told her what happened after the wedding. Not really.

“It… wasn’t?” she asks.

“It really doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” You scrape another pebble off the rooftop, using the motion to block out the sound of his voice trying to slither its way out from the back of your mind.

She bites the inside of her cheek, clearly unconvinced. “Yet you’re up here cursing someone…”

Your heart lodges in your throat. The pebble nearly slips from your fingers. You don’t answer. You can’t.

Just like he can’t.

You hate that word.

“You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” Heejin says quietly, “but… I’m here. If you need anything.”

You toss the pebble. It lands in a suspicious puddle with a soft blorp. You hum in acknowledgment. ---- After resting for a good while—eating rations and drinking water not sourced from the suspicious swamp lakes—you resume your exploration. More lizardmen. More blood. More injuries.

You collect a couple of new wounds courtesy of a lizardman that doesn’t go down as easily as the others. Heejin tuts disapprovingly at your recklessness—according to her, fighting a venomous lizardman one-on-one in a narrow corridor is a terrible plan.

Now you’ve got a fresh mark on your leg, and another across your stomach.

She might not be thrilled, but your blood is roaring. The ache in your muscles, the sting of your cuts, the sweat clinging to your skin—this is the most alive you’ve felt in days. The pain, the heat, the high of it all quiets everything else.

The boss room opens before you—a massive, circular space with no roof. The sky gapes down, ominous and heavy. The original ceiling has long since crumbled into ruin, its remnants swallowed by time.

The dungeon boss is waiting.

A towering lizardman—unlike any of the half-dead creatures you’ve fought so far. This one stands tall, powerful, its scales a deep ebony and healthy. Dressed in ceremonial garb that marks it as something more than a brute—something sacred. A chieftain. Or worse, a shaman.

The moment you step into the boss room, the air shifts—like it had been expecting hunters all along. Magic simmers in the atmosphere, thick and humming, making your skin prickle. Instinctively, you crouch into stealth.

Heejin mouths quiet orders to the group: tanks to the front, fighters behind them, mages with her at the back.

She doesn’t tell you where to go. She knows better now. And besides, your hand is already trembling around your dagger—not with fear, but anticipation.

You wait for the shaman to fixate on the tankers, then slip between torches fashioned from tiny, bleached skulls. You position yourself, daggers steady. A smile crawls across your lips.

As it lifts one scaly arm—staff clutched tight—you leap, blades aimed for its back.

But your daggers only scrape its ebony scales. No satisfying pierce, no give of flesh. The boss lets out a roar, louder than any lizardman before. It spins and slams you with its tail.

Your back hits the wall like a thrown ragdoll. The air leaves your lungs in one heaving gasp. But you manage to scramble upright, pain searing through your ribs—but the thrill still dances behind your smile. You swipe away the trickle of red at the corner of your mouth.

It begins to channel. Blue runes light up the ground beneath it in a perfect, glowing circle.

“It’s a caster!” someone yells.

It should be targeting the tankers—but instead, it locks eyes with you.

Hungry. Focused.

The runes vanish. A massive ball of glowing blue ooze gathers over its head—then launches toward you like a missile.

You duck, just barely. Fire scorches across your back as the projectile hits the wall behind you. The explosion rumbles through your bones. You stagger upright, brushing dust and grit off your body. Pain blooms. Your daggers tremble in your fists, blood singing.

You hear Heejin shout your name. But it’s distant, muffled—like her voice is underwater. You vanish again into stealth. Dash. Weave between debris like a leopard. Leap from a broken column and dive down, blades glinting.

You strike. The daggers dig shallowly into the creature’s shoulders. It screams—a high, bone-chilling shriek—and blood sprays from its wounds. The ground hisses as droplets sizzle and eat through the stone.

But it twists and hurls you down. Your back slams into the floor. The impact explodes in your chest, pain rippling outward in fire-hot waves. You gasp, body slow to respond.

It looms over you.

Its staff lifts like a war banner. A weapon. Death.

And then your eyes meet.

Your breath halts.

That look—wild, electric, alive. You’ve seen it before.

You remember Baek, shirtless and laughing in the training hall, chasing you across the mats like a tiger on the hunt. That gleam in his eyes. That boyish grin that said he loved the chase.

You’d almost forgotten the sound of that husky, breathless laugh.

And then you feel the staff punch through your gut.

Pain explodes outward. You cough—slow motion—and taste copper on your tongue. Your mind reels.

You thought you could outrun your feelings by fighting. But in the end you’ve fallen prey to them, consumed by longing and regret.

Your name rings out. Someone—Heejin?—screams it.

The boss shudders under the weight of a tanks’ blow and stumbles back.

Heejin appears beside you, green light already swirling in her hands. She yanks the staff free from your stomach. You scream. You barely register being dragged out of range, her magic wrapping around you like a cocoon.

At least you had the whole Sunday to recover.

You let out a hollow, bitter laugh as memories of that night between Saturday and Sunday resurface. Sure, you had a good time… but part of you wants to go back in time, slap yourself across the face, and tell yourself to keep your panties on.

Because there’s no way things won’t be awkward between you and Baek Yoon-Ho.

The worst part? You can’t even talk about it.

You expect Heejin to grill you with questions about the wedding — especially since you absentmindedly mentioned you were attending.

What if she notices something? What if you accidentally stare at your boss for one second too long?

For the first time ever, it seems like you’re actually dreading going to work.

At exactly nine a.m., you drop into your familiar chair, your computer humming lazily as it boots up. You stare at the screen, completely blank. Maybe you should have taken a day off? The report you were writing back on Friday is still there, half-finished. 

“Coffee?” a familiar voice chirps. Park Heejin — a fellow B-rank hunter at the White Tiger Guild and probably your best friend — stands beside you with an oddly cheerful smile.

“Sure, thanks,” you nod quietly, as you click through the menus to get your hands on the report. Heejin hands you the cup of coffee and you take it from her without turning her way.

“So how did the wedding go?” she asks. Fortunately you prepared yourself for questions like this. You had a whole day of regret to come up with excuses.

“Soooo much fun,” you sigh, rolling your eyes — though a tiny smile betrays you. Heejin leans at an empty desk next to yours— the very same your boss did back on Friday. “I saw a relative there and I thought he had died like 5 years ago, but nope— there he was.”

She chuckles and takes a tiny sip out of her own cup.

“Yeah it was horrible,” you lie through your teeth as you didn’t exactly have a terrible time there thanks to a certain red head. “But the food was great, soooo great.”

Heejin cocks a brow at the lack of enthusiasm behind your tone. She knows how you are not a fan of family gatherings, but she has known you for quite a while now and knows something’s amiss.

“You look like you haven’t slept a wink,” she sighs, clearly disappointed that you haven’t already spilled the hottest tea of your weekend. “Don't tell me you managed to bring a man home from the wedding and he’s been keeping you busy all weekend now.”

You nearly spit out the coffee you have just taken a sip of, but somehow manage to contain almost all of it and instead you just burst into a fit of coughs.

“What man? Why would there be a man?” you ask, your voice going a touch too high. You hide your twitching lips behind the rim of the mug, pretending to savor the coffee. Of course she is as perceptive as ever, you groan to yourself. 

“So there was a man?” she presses, slamming her hands onto your desk like a detective coming up with a breakthrough. 

“If there was a man,” you sigh, "hypothetically speaking,” you add when you see the excitement begin to sparkle within her bright green eyes. She frowns and returns to lean against the nearby desk. “There’s no man right now,” you say through clenched teeth, silently praying your boss isn’t lurking anywhere nearby to hear this mess unfold.

“Well, isn’t that perfect,” she grins, clearly up to no good. “Because I matched you with someone on Cinder. He’s got a job, teeth, and he thinks female hunters are hot.” Your eyes go wide. This is something you definitely didn’t expect. And more importantly: when did she even have time to do this? “Total match, right?”

“What? Heejin— no, that’s—”

“You were so lonely on Friday evening, so I took the matters to my hands.”

And right on cue, the entire universe decides to ruin your morning. You spot Baek Yoon-Ho — your boss and… fling — walking across the office, heading toward the meeting room. Everyone greets him on the way, and you’d stand out too much if you didn’t chime in with a “good morning.” 

His eyes briefly meet yours — and for a split second, you swear you catch a flicker of gold in that sharp, unreadable stare. You freeze mid-wave, hand awkwardly suspended as your brain malfunctions. Just a normal wave. Totally normal. Baek, however, is already talking with the first management division chief. Your heart sinks — more than it should. What were you even expecting?

You’d both made a promise over breakfast: pretend the night never happened. The fake relationship too. Just another secret between you and your boss.

“Alright, we have a meeting in five,” you hear the voice of Joo Sungcham — the chief of the guild's first division surveillance team. He's the one who usually gives you orders instead of Baek Yoon-Ho, but something's clearly cooking up the management ladder.

Heejin lifts her head. “Wonder if something happened.”

You let out a thoughtful hum. You do know Baek had to leave before sunrise due to a minor incident, but it didn’t seem like something big enough to cram all the guild’s hunters into a meeting room.

The two of you rise, joining the tide of murmuring hunters shuffling into the room.

Baek is already there, seated at the head of the long table, fingers laced above the surface. He doesn’t look at you — his gaze seems fixed on the coffee mug in front of him.

Heejin drags you toward two empty seats far enough away from Baek to feel like an entirely different time zone. His appearance is as sharp as ever — suit freshly pressed, red hair immaculately styled. It’s hard to imagine that same man moaning your name just a day ago.

…You really need to get over whatever this is.

The meeting begins. The room falls into a reverent hush as Baek stands, tall and commanding, the projection flicking through slides behind him.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. Not once. His eyes skim right past your seat. You feel a tiny pinch in your chest.

“Fourth Jeju Island raid,” he says, his voice steady, gaze sweeping the room — conveniently skipping over you again.

You’d heard whispers, but this is big. Your heart stutters; you're only a B-rank hunter, after all.

“There’s no formal plan in place yet,” he continues, “but it’s vital the guild supports the operation as much as possible. And… as we sadly lost a few members not long ago—”

He pauses. A breath, long and weary. You glance at Heejin — her expression has gone completely blank; she was one of the few survivors of the Red Gate incident.

“I understand if some of you are uncomfortable, but I’ll be honest — I need your help.”

A low rumble of murmurs circles the room. Doubt. Dread. Worry. Baek clears his throat — the room stills again.

“If I had to guess, I’d say the S-ranks will go hard and deep—”

He falters. Blinks. A beat.

“I mean, will be deployed to the hardest… zones—” He shakes his head, sighing under his breath. Heejin raises a brow, shooting you a look of disbelief.

“What’s gotten into him?” she whispers.

And then — his eyes land on yours.

You freeze.

There’s a flicker of something in his expression: embarrassment, restraint, memory.

The image hits you like a brick.

His mouth on your neck. 

Your wrists pinned. 

The heat of him pulsing deep inside you as he groaned your name against your skin.

“I can’t seem to stop myself when you’re like this.”

Another throat clear — you blink, snapping back to reality just as he continues.

“There will likely be a strike squad comprised of Korean S-rank hunters, with Japanese S-ranks supporting operations around the island perimeter.”

A nudge at your elbow.

“You good?” Heejin whispers. “You’ve got a weird look on your face.”

“I'm fine,” you mutter, squeezing your pen like it might snap any moment.

Your thighs press together instinctively.

This. Was. A. Mistake.

The rest of the meeting blurs into a cloudy daze; your gaze stays fixed on the presentation while your mind fights the urge to drift—to him. Your thoughts try to slip— his voice so professional and clean compared to the husky growls and grunts you got used to. Just thinking about it makes you shudder, squeezing your legs together a tad tighter.

Every time Heejin leans in to whisper another concerned “Are you okay?”, you just nod curtly. “The office is colder than usual.” Though you claim to be cold, the truth simmers beneath your skin—hot and restless, as you shift subtly in your seat.

After Baek Yoon-Ho has finished his speech, the first division surveillance team chief takes a moment to debrief hunters, while Baek sits still with furrowed brows. Silent. Observant. Like a tiger crouched in the tall grass—watching. Waiting.

----

Hunters pour out of the meeting room like a swarm, buzzing with chatter: Jeju Island, Japanese S-ranks, Korean hunters, gym routines… the usual chaos.

You feel like you’ve been sitting inside a dream all morning, moving from one point to another. Drained. Not just of energy, but of will—every movement sluggish, every thought trailing behind where it should be. And as you return to your desk to find the same unfinished report, you frown. Is this the first time in this job when you actually hate Monday?

You fall back into a familiar rhythm, fingers tapping away at your keyboard like muscle memory dragging you back to sanity. 

Time passes as you write, focusing on it. It’s almost purifying—finally, a task that wipes your mind clean of any thoughts of your boss’s head between your thighs. For now, it’s just a very detailed version of the gate raid you participated in last week. You were the highest ranking hunter there, helping out a bunch of new recruits getting adjusted to the raiding with the other guild members.

Two hours has passed when you finally click the send button, pleased with your work. 

“Lunch?” Heejin’s voice cuts through your haze, chipper and relentless as she materializes beside you, already tugging at your arm.

“Is it lunch already?” you mumble, mildly dumbfounded as you pick up your phone. “And where the hell did you even come from…” you add under your breath.

“Girl, what is wrong with you today?” she groans dramatically, crossing her arms with practiced exasperation. “You were totally checked out during that meeting too, are you sick—” her lips pull into a devious, scheming smile, “—or in love?”

“Definitely not in love!” you snap so fast it almost startles you, like the very word left a bitter taste in your mouth. Love? No. Gross. Absolutely not. She doesn’t seem to buy it and tilts her head, the smirk adorning her face crooked and victorious. 

“We can talk more about your love life over lunch and I have just the place in mind to cheer you up.”

Your phone vibrates—sharply. Almost aggressively. Like it knows it’s about to ruin your life. You look at the notification and see a message from…

Him.

Your fingers nearly tremble as you swipe the screen of your phone to see what he has sent you. Thank god you saved his contact with a tiger emoji—way less obvious than “Baek Yoon-Ho,” which would’ve made Heejin drop her lunch plans and start interrogating you on the spot.

“Just a second, Heejin.”

Heejin sits down on the empty desk next to yours, waiting patiently and looking at your other coworkers doing something silly in the background.

>> My office.

>> Now.

The message is simple if a tad bossy and yet your legs have grown numb. Why does he want to see you now when he clearly didn’t bother acknowledging your existence earlier? However, your heart flutters, picking up its pace cheerily.

“Uhm, actually something came up and I need to stay a bit longer,” you tuck your phone away into your pocket, dodging Heejin’s inquisitive glare that tries to drill into your brain. “I’ll get something out of the cafeteria later.”

Her eyes narrow into thin, suspicious slits. “Uh-huh,” she says slowly, clearly not buying it. “Totally not in love.”

You point at her with your index finger, as if that alone could silence her—but you know it won’t last long. Especially when she leaves while snickering to herself. You make a mental note not to enter a gate with her anytime soon; you might end up stuck there for a week or more. Time moves faster inside a gate… and she’d enjoy every minute of watching you suffer.

As soon as she disappears from the office floor, your legs begin to move. You want to turn around and chase after Heejin—pretend you forgot something, pretend anything—but your body doesn’t listen. It’s like you’re being pulled toward the guildmaster’s office by some invisible thread, a kind of gravity you can’t explain.

Luckily, most of your coworkers have left for lunch. No one seems to notice a lone B-rank hunter slipping into the tiger’s den.

You haven’t been in Baek’s office more than once or twice before. He’s not usually directly involved with the hunters in the guild, and it’d raise eyebrows to visit him without a valid reason. So either you’re in trouble, or he’s making this personal.

Unfortunately, both are possible. After all, you did sleep with him.

A shudder crawls down your spine as his voice, rough with want, echoes again in your mind—panting in your ear, groaning your name like a secret.

You turn the handle of his door and push it open, revealing a wide, elegant room bathed in pale daylight. Massive windows stretch across one side, casting shadows over towering shelves full of books—some you recognize, others with strange symbols or spines that look far too abstract or foreign.

Baek sits in his chair, turned slightly away from the door, gaze locked on the window. He doesn’t turn to look at you.

Something tightens in your chest.

“Close the door,” he says.

His voice is strained. Tight. Controlled in a way that makes you feel anything but.

You obey, almost sensing his eyes burning a hole into your back, but when you turn to face him again, he doesn’t appear to have moved at all. You take a few tentative, shaky steps toward his desk.

“You asked for me?”

Your voice is just as overly professional as his — like you’re both dancing on the edge of something dangerous.

Finally, his gaze flicks to you.

Your heart jumps.

Baek keeps his face unreadable — so unreadable he almost looks mad at you. Did you screw something up at the start of the week already? His jaw clenches as he stands. You’d almost forgotten how tall he is.

You hold your breath.

“I thought we were supposed to act like nothing happened,” he says, voice tight, controlled — but you can sense something beneath it. Something dangerously familiar.

He makes his way around the desk slowly, stopping just a few steps away from you. Within reach.

“So why were you staring at me during the meeting?”

His question is quiet. He takes a step closer — and you instinctively step back.

What?

A wave of irritation crashes over you.

“Excuse me? You were the one pretending I didn’t exist — what did you want me to do, throw my pen at you?”

You glare at him, not backing down like you were about to just seconds ago.

“Is this all you wanted to talk to me about?” you groan. “To think I didn’t get to eat a tasty lunch because of this— this is ridiculous.”

You turn and head for the door, already reaching for your phone to text Heejin and see if you can still join her.

But just as your fingers graze the handle—

Slam.

A hand with tiger claws pins the door shut beside your head.

You whirl around — and Baek is there, casting a shadow over you, his clawed hand still on the door.

You’re unsure if you feel turned on or afraid, but it doesn’t matter — you can’t form a coherent thought when all of them have fled straight to your groin.

“You’re making this ridiculous,” he growls quietly. You catch the flicker of gold in his eyes.

Neither of you move. The silence stretches, a standoff, a staring match you refuse to lose.

“Fuck,” he finally grunts, voice low and rasping. “I guess I didn’t hallucinate.”

You blink. Your heart skips a beat.

“Hallucinate what?”

His gaze softens. A faint rose flush rises to his cheeks.

“You had that face when you—”

He cuts himself off.

“Oh,” you say, feeling heat crawl up your neck.

“That.”

Baek Yoon-Ho looks like a man at war with himself, his jaw clenching again and again. His gaze drops, tracing the line of your lips, and you see him swallow—hard. His claws dig into the wooden door behind you with a low creak.

Your pulse quickens, your breaths unsteady—because for a moment, there's a strange pull, a gravity tugging you toward him. Wanting to kiss him. You wet your lips at the thought. He inhales sharply.

The moment lasts far too long to be anything professional. You both consider it: give in. The air thickens with anticipation, yet neither of you moves.

You can smell him—his familiar scent—and it floods you with memories. Of him kissing you like you were the sweetest thing in the world. Of him devouring you like he couldn't get enough. He’s too close.

What if—

Suddenly, he pulls away, retreating like a startled cat. His hand comes up to pinch the bridge of his nose, like he’s trying to fight back a migraine. You lean against the door, dazed, trying to steady your breathing.

“No.” His voice is quiet, frayed. “We can’t.”

You wait a beat before replying, voice cool but thin: “Then why did you call me here?”

He looks at you—then looks away, like you burn him with your presence. His shoulders rise and fall in a slow, steady rhythm.

“Because I needed to know.”

“Know what?” You let out a half-laugh, crossing your arms as if to hold your dignity together. The back of your neck burns.

“That it wasn’t just me.”

Silence falls again. Heavy, suffocating. Only the distant hum of traffic far below his window dares to intrude.

He doesn’t look at you, but you can feel the weight behind the words. They're full of something unspoken. A thousand emotions that language doesn’t cover. He stands still, his body tense, but there is a certain softness to him. The aura he radiates is warm in a way that might hurt more than his coldness ever could.

You feel something swell in your chest—unwelcome, uninvited. Too soon. Too real.

And your voice cracks as you whisper: “It wasn’t just you.”

He shifts, turning slightly like he wants to meet your eyes—but doesn’t. Can’t. Like he knows that if he looks at you again, he might lose whatever fragile grip on restraint he has left.

“You should go,” he murmurs, already moving back to his chair.

Your hand hesitates on the door handle. You bite your lip, stealing one last glance at him as he sits down. He doesn’t look up, but you can feel it—the heat of his gaze at your back, burning like it’s begging you to turn around.

But you don’t.

The walk back to your desk feels distant, unreal. You don’t even register how your legs shake. Your ears hum—like the ocean, like you’re underwater.

Muted.

Dulled.

Your heart isn’t racing anymore. It just hurts—a slow, echoing thud that somehow feels louder than everything else.

Heejin hasn’t returned yet. You notice that as you sit down, finally. Like you’re surfacing from the waves, heavy as an anchor. Your fingers hover above your keyboard, ready to resume work—but you don’t.

Like muscle memory, you reach into your jacket pocket and pull out your phone. The screen lights up—still showing that same unread message from the tiger emoji.

You swipe your thumb across it, as if the motion might offer some kind of comfort.

It doesn’t.

You set the phone face-down on your desk. Exhale. Sit straighter.

Work.

But the words echo in your head, real and raw and inescapable:

The ride home feels like an eternity. Getting to the wedding venue was over far too quickly, and now the journey in the opposite direction feels torturous—you’re just awkwardly squirming in your seat for what feels like hours. You're unsure what will happen when you get back. Do you invite him in? Or do you just call it a night and hit the hay?

“Did you have fun?” he asks suddenly, as if sensing your discomfort—or maybe trying to hide his own.

“Oh, sure,” you snort abashedly, waving your hand dismissively. “I mean, that one weird aunt who was completely wasted tried to tell me how I’m her favorite niece or something. That probably topped the whole evening.”

Mister Baek quirks a brow in bewilderment.

“I haven't seen her since I was eight, soooo...”

He lets out an amused, yet understanding hum.

“Must be you.” You sigh and cautiously steal a glance in his direction. Why does he look so good even in the dim lights of the car’s dashboard, which illuminate his well-sculpted features in the otherwise dark surroundings?

“I think the whole family was smitten by you.” So are you, to be honest.

“I tried not to look too cool, but it seems I can't help it,” he sighs dramatically in jest, flashing you a cocky smirk that sends a spark straight between your legs.

Everything about this man is so wrong, and your previous spontaneous clash of lips certainly does nothing to stop your mind from wandering to places it shouldn’t go. This is your boss, after all.

There has to be a way to address the elephant in the room—which is: when do you return to your normal roles? Have you already stopped pretending, and this is just the kind of an awkward sequel to the wedding act?

“We’re here,” he announces suddenly, sounding slightly strained—but you’re too flustered and deep in your thoughts to catch it.

This is the very moment you’ve dreaded—more or less knowingly—and it shows. Neither of you is really willing to start the conversation. The car ride took so long it killed off the spontaneous lust. Maybe asking him to come upstairs is not a good idea after all, acting on your feelings would be a mistake.

“So, uhh…” You turn to face him but are too nervous to meet his eyes. “Thank you for today, it was…”

There’s an expectant pause, and you swallow hard.

“You did great.” You want to punch yourself but resist the temptation. Great? Really?!

“Well, I’d be a terrible friend if I didn’t help,” he says with a strained tone. “I had fun, though.”

Another frustrating pause in your totally-not-awkward conversation.

“I should probably go,” you say, patting your knees to bring the moment to a close. “So… good night.”

He doesn’t respond right away, just nods slowly as you get out of the car. Only when you’re about to close the door do you hear a quiet, “Good night,” from your boss.

Your steps toward the front door are hurried, like you're trying to rush inside before temptation gets the better of you. Baek hasn’t left yet—or at least, you haven’t heard the gentle purr of the engine in the guest parking spot. The night air brushes coldly against your skin, raising goosebumps.

Finding your keys in your purse proves to be a challenge. The alcohol hasn’t fully worn off; your fingers feel numb, and there’s a gentle buzz in your belly. Heat rises to your cheeks as you fumble through the tiny purse in your arms.

“You dropped these.”

Your boss’s familiar voice crashes through the silence like thunder, making you jump slightly. You turn around to see him standing there, looking slightly apologetic, holding out your apartment keys.

“What? I did?”

“They were on the car floor,” he sighs, handing over the small keyring. They feel warm—much warmer than the night air—and the sensation soothes you in an unexpected way.

“D-do…” you stammer, smiling way too shyly, “do you want to come inside?”

Mister Baek seems puzzled for a moment, but his cheeks grow mildly pink and he averts his gaze. Funny how just moments ago you were trying to suck each other's souls out of your mouths.

“I probably have something to drink,” you rush to add, “since you didn’t get to enjoy the booze at the party.” You don't want to sound too eager, but it'd be a lie to claim otherwise. So much for that mature self-restraint.

Mister Baek goes out for drinks with his friend famously often, Mister Min—who used to be a hunter. However, his outings aren’t exclusively with Min, though; as he often invites his employees—you included—out for drinks to bond and unwind. You’ve seen him down many bottles and glasses of various liquids. And pass out gloriously on a table.

“Well, I suppose I don’t have anything else planned for tonight.”

There’s an unexpected skip in your heartbeat when he flashes that charming smile. You turn away to unlock the door, trying to ignore the familiar heat rushing to places that shouldn’t feel so alive around your boss.

You lead him through the eerily silent corridors and share a few awkward seconds in the elevator before arriving at your apartment. You haven’t really brought anyone home in a while—well, except for Park Heejin, a close colleague and friend. The two of you binge silly dramas during those rare evenings when you're not typing away at the office or beheading monsters inside a gate. Your dating life has been rather quiet, thanks to your dedication to stay at the office more than at home.

Bringing your boss home certainly wasn’t in your plans for the day either. Even if it is an unholy secret fantasy of yours, you’d never actually dreamt of acting on such a chance. Shit. You haven’t even tidied up your apartment because you never actually planned to bring anyone home from the wedding.

As you finally arrive, pitch-black darkness greets you at the door. You flip on the lights and try to kick off your shoe like a dancer, balancing on the single heel still strapped to your other foot. Mister Baek grabs your hand to steady you, his warmth radiating through your palm as you lean into him for balance. 

“Sorry, these were easier to put on,” you giggle sheepishly, finally managing to get the shoes off with his help. You try not to overthink his hands on your body too much and how much you’d actually like to feel them against your bare skin instead of the dress you’re wearing.

He follows suit, removing his own shoes while letting his gaze sweep over your apartment. You do get paid well enough as a B-rank hunter for the White Tiger Guild, but your home isn’t some lavish penthouse like his probably is.

“Welcome,” you say, gesturing with both hands as if to present the space. “You can sit on the couch, and I’ll bring you something nice.”

“Besides yourself?” he asks smugly, catching you completely off guard.

“Funny,” you grumble, earning a quiet laugh from him.

You disappear into the kitchen and rummage through the fridge. You’ve got two bottles of soju—decent enough to serve. Drinking alone with your boss, who just pretended to be your boyfriend? Nothing can possibly go wrong. Still, you are the one who decided to be polite and invite him in.

With a cheerful hum, you return to the living room to find Baek already seated on the couch, his expensive suit coat draped over the backrest. He’s wearing a crisp white dress shirt underneath, and his tie is loosened. He notices your stare and clears his throat, a subtle reminder to pick your jaw up off the floor.

“Not that I mind seeing my girlfriend ogling me like that,” he chuckles, patting the seat next to him.

You half consider moving to the farthest corner of the sofa purely out of spite, but hearing him call you girlfriend makes your heart flutter like a butterfly.

“Well, good sir , I wasn’t actually ogling you,” you scoff, scrunching your nose as you sit down beside him. You place the bottles of soju and two glasses on the coffee table in front of you. “And I’m not your actual girlfriend,” you mutter under your breath—just loud enough for him to hear.

You pick up the bottle and pour strawberry-flavored soju into the glasses. He watches silently, waiting as you set the bottle aside, then takes the other glass from your hand when you offer it. His fingers brush against yours, lingering a tad longer than necessary before he pulls the glass away. You bite your lip, already missing his gentle touch, a tiny blush coloring the tips of your ears.

“I haven’t been on a date in a while, actually,” he says simply, downing the drink in one swift gulp. “So it was kind of nice—even if you’re not an actual girlfriend of mine.”

You pause mid-sip, frozen, unable to stop staring at the bob of his Adam's apple like a parched dog in the desert.

“Dude , we aren’t on a date,” you huff as you force yourself to stare elsewhere. The bookshelf looks really nice in the dim living room. Maybe you should rearrange those pillows? How about a nice new houseplant by the window?

Everything about today has felt like a date— and it’s been fucking magical —but things will go back to normal the moment you return to work. It can’t be anything more than what happened at the wedding, no matter how much your heart races when you see him… or how you're currently sitting on a couch drinking soju with him.

“This is a date, though,” he insists. “We did the wedding, and now drinks at your place. Pretty textbook.”

You elbow him—hard enough to make him yelp, “Ow!”—but not enough to actually hurt him. He chuckles and grabs the bottle to pour himself another round while you roll your eyes to the roof.

“Yeah, but I didn’t ask you out on a date, so it doesn’t count.”

The corners of his lips curl into a small smile—the kind that makes you feel warm and fuzzy. Or maybe it’s the soju. Who knows?

“So, what if I did ask you out on a date?” he asks casually. “What’d you say?”

“That’s an easy one. I’d say you’re drunk.”

“I’m not. At least, not yet,” he replies, and now he’s looking at you differently—those vermilion eyes no longer playful, but hungry. Like a tiger eyeing its prey.

You swallow hard and, without thinking, close your legs as if that could protect you from your dangerously alluring, shapeshifting boss.

He notices—and looks very amused—bringing his glass to his lips with a glint of something wicked in his gaze.

“So, Miss this-is-not-a-date, why’d you ask me over then?” he asks after taking a sip. “Do you always bring coworkers home, or am I just special?”

“Heejin comes over to watch dramas and shoot the shit,” you explain, pulse quickening and breath growing uneven. “You just look like you’re about to devour me.”

Silence. The kind that buzzes in your ears. The kind where you can hear your own heartbeat pounding in anticipation.

Baek finishes his drink in one go again, clearly outmatching the soju in this battle. He turns to you, lips parted, cinders dancing in that tiger-like gaze that leaves little to the imagination.

Softly spoken: “And what if I do?”

The words fall from his lips like an exhale as he leans in closer, one hand rising to caress your jawline.

“I thought I told you how I feel.”

You feel breathless as his calloused thumb tenderly swipes the corner of your mouth. He leans in further, his familiar scent clouding your senses like a drug you can’t resist. His nose brushes against yours, and his lips ghost over your own—testing for your reaction, or maybe his own self-restraint.

Whatever happened back at the wedding feels like a distant dream at this point. His presence feels more real and enticing. There are no prying eyes inside your home after all.

“And as much as I want it,” you whisper shakily, eyes fluttering up to meet his wild gaze, “it’s not a good idea for us to get involved… further than this.”

A low, frustrated growl escapes his chest, vibrating against your skin and sending a delicious shiver down your spine.

“Then how about we pretend—just a little longer?” he murmurs, taking your drink and setting it on the table without pulling away. His face is still inches from yours, and his warm breath brushes your cheek. “Be my girlfriend a little longer?”

“You drive me crazy,” you murmur, a flicker of amusement laced into the tension.

“Likewise,” he replies, and then he closes the tiny distance between you.

“Say, wanna do me a favor and be my plus-one?” you toss out casually, batting your eyes in exaggerated jest. A tiny part of you kindles the flame of hope — because he is your type, and showing up with a good-looking man like him wouldn’t be too far-fetched. But since he’s your boss, he’s obviously going to decline —

“What time am I picking you up?” he asks nonchalantly, backing away to tug at his tie, loosening it after a long day at the office. He’s been cooped up in his room, attending meetings and doing whatever it is guild leaders do.

“Wait — what? You’re my boss. You can’t just come to a wedding as my boyfriend.”

He quirks a brow and adjusts the cuff of his coat. “Yeah, but I think I owe you one.”

A groan mixed with a frustrated sigh escapes your throat as you collapse into your chair. Mister Baek had asked you — no, beseeched you — to pretend to be his one-night stand after his ex wouldn’t stop lingering post-breakup. You’d answered the door to his apartment wearing nothing but his dress shirt, leaving said ex dumbfounded and heartbroken. He hadn’t wanted to go that far, but when his ex refused to back off, he’d resorted to stronger measures.

“It’s the least I can do after that,” he admits, looking slightly dejected. You can’t really blame the man for going against his moral compass. His vermilion eyes drop to the floor as he sits on a desk next to yours.

You save the file with a couple of swift clicks and stand up as your PC begins its well-earned weekend shutdown. “I know you’re a good man,” you sigh, moving over to pat his shoulder — awkwardly.

It’s always a miracle to see him fall from confident, strong hunter to emotional mess, and you’re not sure anyone else has ever seen this side of him. You’ve been there for him whenever his relationships turned sour. You don’t want to see him so crestfallen again.

“Thanks,” he says, straightening up. He’s a rather tall man — intimidating, even. You’ve seen him turn into a white tiger a few times, and never have you seen another hunter strike fear and awe quite like he does. But when it’s just the two of you, he’s just a man — kind and respectable. You’d follow him anywhere if he asked.

Mister Baek gives you an expectant look while sitting on a wooden desk he could easily break. You can’t help but smile at him warmly. His kicked puppy — or tiger cub — demeanor has become a weakness of yours.

“If you really want to help me out, pick me up at 2 p.m. tomorrow.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------ You’ve never been so nervous about attending a wedding before. You’re used to being the lone rider, facing lovebirds left and right at weddings and birthday parties. Hell, you’ve almost become a cautionary tale among your relatives — the one who adopts a dozen kittens as she grows old alone.

Yet this time, even if it’s all pretend and play, you feel actual butterflies in your stomach as you get into a black car driven by the man who is both your boss and one of the strongest hunters in the country.

Normally, you wouldn’t have put this much thought into your outfit — like you’re on a mission to outshine the bride. Not that you’d actually do that, but it sure feels like it. You need to look like someone worthy of standing next to the man pretending to be your boyfriend. S-rank hunters are rare enough to be picky about who they date.

“Hey there,” Mister Baek greets you, his eyes taking in your outfit — lingering a little longer than what might be considered appropriate. You feel triumphant but keep it to yourself; if he’s impressed, then your family should be too.

“You look different.”

“Is that a compliment?” you ask, cocking your brow and poking at his bicep as he starts the car.

He lets out an amused chuckle, clearly entertained by your rebellious attitude. “Yes — I’ve never seen you all dolled up before.”

You want to say neither have I, but decide against it and reply, “I need to convince my parents and grandparents that I’m happily in a relationship so they’ll leave my love life alone.”

“I get that,” he nods, gesturing for you to enter the address into the car’s navigator. “I trust they don’t know I’m your boss, then?”

“They barely know what I do for a living,” you scoff, gently tapping the address into the screen. “I think your identity is safe.”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The ceremony is straight out of a Hollywood movie — an outdoor wedding arch, rows of white chairs and pillars decorated with flowers. The two of you clearly turn heads as you arrive, your arm tightly linked with your boss, who radiates more heat than you would have imagined. Maybe it’s a tiger thing? Who knows. The suit he’s wearing is black and looks far more expensive than what you usually see him in.

“Everyone’s looking at you,” he muses, and you feel his body vibrate as he speaks.

“I think their eyes are on you, Yoon-ho,” you counter, your tone overly adoring — which doesn’t feel like you at all. Calling him by his first name makes you gag inside, and clearly he isn’t used to it either. But for the sake of a good act, you need to behave like a couple. His cheeks turn mildly pink, which you find rather cute but decide to keep to yourself.

The most touching ceremony is followed by the most bewildering — and probably the most expensive — wedding party you’ve ever attended. The luxury doesn’t stop: multiple buffet tables, a couple of dance floors, a live band, more flowers, more people than you can count, a fountain, and even swans swimming in a nearby pond to top it all off.

The variety of snacks alone leaves you dumbstruck — normally, this would feel like paradise. Unfortunately, arriving with a man who’s basically a walking snack raises more eyebrows and questions than you’d like: How does someone like you land a man like him? Relatives constantly seek you out like you’re celebrities, stopping you from getting near the buffet as your hunger grows.

Mister Baek, however, is excellent at playing the part of a devoted boyfriend — and at times, you even buy into the lie yourself.

“Am I doing good?” he whispers after yet another tedious chat with your cousin’s neighbors. His breath tickles your ear, making your blood roar and sending an uncomfortable spark straight to your abdomen.

You turn to smile at him, and seeing his handsome face this close sends shivers down your spine. “Better than I expected,” you chuckle, then add in a hushed tone, “If I didn’t know the truth, I’d say we’ve been together for a while.”

“Well, you have been in the guild for quite a while,” he admits. “We’ve worked together for some time now.”

You’re interrupted when your mother suddenly appears from the crowd, your grandmother following closely behind. You flash an awkward smile at your boss and turn to face the very reason you have a fake date in the first place.

First, your mother gushes over the two of you, awestruck that you’ve managed to land a dreamboat like him. Then she begins chatting with Mister Baek, revealing every embarrassing secret from your years of flying solo in family gatherings.

“I think your daughter is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever met,” he replies smoothly, sending a flutter of butterflies into your chest. “And she can pack a mean punch, too.”

“Yoon-ho is a hunter too, Mom,” you add, blushing furiously as you avoid looking him in the eye. He seems unfazed — maybe even slightly amused — by your flustered state.

Your mother rolls her eyes, clearly displeased with your career choice but satisfied that you’ve “found love” in the end. She eventually pulls you aside, leaving Mister Baek to your grandmother’s mercy.

You’re hounded with questions: how did you two meet, does he treat you well, and most importantly — why didn’t you tell anyone about him sooner?

It’s not a lie that you met him through work — he is your boss, after all — but your mother’s better off not knowing that tiny detail. Eventually, she gets distracted by the newlyweds, and you return to your boss’s side.

“You’re enjoying this way too much,” you groan at his smug expression.

“I think your grandmother is lovely,” he says as you link your arm with his again. Your body responds to his warmth immediately, a tiny shiver running down your spine. “She called me her future grandson-in-law. I’m invested now.”

You cock a brow at him and can feel him laugh heartily more than hear it.

“Can we get something to eat now? I’m starving.” You promptly ignore his obvious teasing that leaves your ears glowing with heat as his voice still rings in your ears.

The two of you walk to the buffet and fill your plates with cakes, pastries, fruit — everything you’ve been eyeing all night — while people continue to stop by to poke fun at your “single days” being over and to admire Mister Baek up close. You notice how some seem slightly intimidated by his fierce appearance — a distant echo of the white tiger he transforms into.

As the day shifts into evening and the sky begins to darken, the party goes on. Tiny lanterns light up the venue in a romantic glow, and the two of you finally manage to steal a quiet moment — walking side by side, hands brushing now and then, away from the dancing and the music.

“Thanks for coming today,” you tell him meekly, the champagne bubbling joyfully in your stomach and making you feel uncomfortably warm. On the flip side, it’s also given you a bit of extra confidence.

Mister Baek hasn’t had a drop to drink — he’s supposed to drive the two of you home after the party.

“I’ve had a good time,” he sighs, helping you sit down on a bench facing away from the festivities. “Nothing compared to what you did for me.”

You let out a tipsy giggle and lean your head against his shoulder. His body tenses briefly, but relaxes almost immediately. “Yeah…”

“Think your parents are convinced now?” he asks.

“I hope so. I don’t want to drag you out for every family gathering.”

Silence falls between the two of you, filled only with the joyful sounds of singing and music from the party behind. You lift your head and notice him looking at you with an unreadable expression. Your gaze drops to his lips, just slightly parted, and you feel his warm exhale brush against your skin. A glint of gold flashes in his eyes, and you’re not sure if you imagined it.

“You don’t?” he finally asks, and there’s a hint of wistfulness in his tone.

You bite your lip and pull away, the cool night air sliding into the space between you. “I don’t think it’d be a good idea. I’ll have to come up with a reason why we broke up.”

The sentence plays back in your head, making you chuckle — the idea of breaking up with someone you aren’t even dating.

“Can we go home now? I think we’ve been here long enough to prove I’m in a happy relationship.”

“If that’s what you wish,” he says, and you miss the disappointment laced in his voice.

The two of you stand, arms linked, and walk back in silence to give the newlyweds your final congratulations and let your parents know you're leaving for the night. As you near the dance floor — where most of the guests, including your parents, have gathered — the music shifts to a slow, romantic song. You spot your mother across the crowd, dancing with your father, clearly enjoying the moment.

“Fuck,” you mutter, as the dancing couples block your path.

“Want to dance?” Mister Baek asks nonchalantly from behind you. You turn, stunned to see him holding out his hand expectantly.

“What?” you ask in disbelief. “We were supposed to go home.”

“Your parents are clearly occupied,” he sighs. “And this would really seal the deal — let everyone know you’re already spoken for.”

You take his hand, letting him pull your body close to his. His warmth envelops you, and an involuntary gasp slips from your lips as he gently leads you to the dance floor, swaying to the music.

“I hope you’re not just doing this to impress my grandma,” you jab, teasing.

He chuckles, the sound soft and genuine. You hook your arms over his neck, gazing up at him defiantly — as if daring him to fluster you again. You’re determined not to let him.

“She’s a lovely lady — but not my type,” he replies.

“Oh? And what is your type?” you ask, a cocky smile curling on your lips — unintentional, like your heart has bought into the lie all over again. It’s easy to forget, just for a moment, that he’s your boss. And definitely not your boyfriend.

He falls silent, carefully choosing his next words. His hands on your hips squeeze just a little tighter — not enough to hurt, but enough to be noticed. The vermilion in his eyes locks with yours, and his wild brows furrow in thought. A word falls from his lips — short, but too quiet to catch over the loud yell of a nearby partygoer.

One of his hands moves from your waist to your jaw, and his thumb brushes your cheek. You feel his nail beginning to lengthen, and gold pools into his irises. His gaze drops to your lips and he breathes, “May I kiss you?”

“Why?” you ask, clueless, swallowing hard as heat pools low in your stomach.

To prove a point to everyone, obviously. You know you’ll regret it — or maybe not — but the part of you that’s always fantasized about something more than friendship with your boss grows stronger and greedier by the second. Still too befuddled — and maybe slightly irritated you never got a real answer about his “type” — you nod hesitantly before he can explain.

He leans in, close enough for you to smell his cologne and feel his lips ghosting over yours — like he’s hesitating too. His thumb swipes over your lower lip before he finally closes the gap between you, his soft lips capturing yours in a gentle kiss. His body tenses, as if he’s holding something back — the tiger, maybe — but when you respond to his careful kiss, he relaxes. One hand moves to cradle your chin as he deepens the kiss just enough to leave you breathless.

You pull away after a moment and immediately notice too many eyes on you, but Mister Baek ignores them. Instead, he meets your gaze and lets out an embarrassed, but quiet, chuckle that sounds almost like a subdued howl. The gold in his eyes is gone, his nails back to normal — not that it matters with the alcohol swirling through your system.

“Didn’t think it would be this hard,” you exhale, unsure if the warmth radiating through you is from his hands or your own blood roaring in your veins.

“What, the kiss? Don’t tell me you’ve never kissed anyone before.”

You resist the urge to punch him in his finely sculpted abdomen — which you unfortunately know well, thanks to his shirtless gym habits. Instead, you let out a frustrated groan and, fueled by alcohol and reckless confidence, lean in just enough to whisper:

“No. I meant not having feelings for you, dork.”

You squint at him, puffing your cheeks as if to intimidate him, but your only reward is his joy.

“Then don’t try so hard not to,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead gently against yours. A wave of calm washes over you. His tone is soothing, and the weight of his hand on your hip feels comforting — like it’s meant to be there.

You bite your lower lip as the two of you continue swaying in silence until the slow, intimate song ends. You feel the loss of his warmth as he pulls away, walking you over to your parents, who now seem to have shed the last remnants of doubt about your relationship after that small display of affection on the dance floor.

As the two of you finally make your way back to Mister Baek’s car, a strange anxiety settles in your chest. Was that kiss real? Did it mean something? Was it just part of the act? What happens now?

“You’re lucky I didn’t turn into a tiger back there,” he says suddenly, offering you an apologetic smile.

His comment catches you off guard, and you snort at the unexpected confession.

“Are you serious?” you ask, incredulous, but unable to hide your smile. He seems pleased that the tension and awkwardness have shattered like glass.

He opens the car door for you like the gentleman he’s been all day — though it isn’t far from his true self. He’s always treated you well, as both a boss and a friend. You sink into the seat with a long exhale, feeling the toll of a day filled with socializing, walking, and emotional whiplash.

Mister Baek slips into the driver’s seat, his cheeks suddenly blooming red as he turns to glance at you — shamelessly splayed across the passenger seat.

“What?” you tease. “Can’t a girl relax after a long day?”

“I just…” He swallows and pauses, visibly anxious enough that you sit up and lean in closer.

“I meant what I said back there,” he whispers, honesty glinting in his eyes.

“Which part?” you ask, though you already know. You just want to hear him say it again — when it’s just the two of you.

“Everything.”

You tilt your head, a small smile tugging at your lips as you reach to swipe a stray strand of blood-red hair from his forehead. It’s an intimate gesture — one that probably crosses a line between boss and subordinate. But you don’t care. Not tonight.

Instead of pressing him further, you close the distance and kiss him.

The kiss starts cautious, exploratory — your lips brushing his, softly pressing, testing. But soon, the embers in your stomach ignite into a roaring fire. He responds like a man starved, and the kiss deepens quickly, feverishly. His hand moves to the back of your neck, guiding you closer as your lips devour each other. You’ve never wanted anything, or anyone, this badly. Your tongue traces the seam of his lips — which part without hesitation, inviting you in.

Then, suddenly, he pulls back. Panting.

His face is flushed, his hair now a shock of white, and his irises shine with brilliant gold.

“I can’t control it. Not with you,” he admits, ashamed — but still licking his lips, like his hunger hasn’t been sated. Not yet.

You feel triumphant. An S-rank hunter at your mercy, unable to control his transformation abilities — all because of you.

“Maybe we should go home, then,” you purr, blinking slowly at him.

He nods — quickly. And as the gold in his eyes fades and his hair gradually returns to red, you both know this act is far from over. The car starts, and you gaze out the window, cheeks flushed and lips still swollen, watching as the landscape blurs and the streetlights flash past in the darkness.

“So…” your boss finally says, his voice breaking the silence once he's calmed down.

You turn your head to face him, but he keeps his eyes locked on the road — like he's afraid that looking at you might make him lose control again.

“One hell of an act,” you murmur dreamily.

“Yeah,” he says, a wry smirk tugging at his lips, “ so when do we stop pretending?”

Davrin must have noticed your dreamy gaze as you twirl your spoon in the nearly empty cup, his brows knitting with concern as he wonders what’s gotten into this Antivan Crow sitting at the breakfast table, looking so distracted.

“Rook,” he waves a hand in front of your frozen stare, “you alright?”

You blink, suddenly aware of the heaviness in your eyes—a side effect of staring into nothing for too long.

“Ow, yeah,” you groan at the prickling sensation as you squeeze your eyes shut, earning an amused chuckle from your breakfast company. “Just homesick.”

The worry on his face fades, replaced by amusement as the corners of his lips curl into a tiny smirk. “I actually have something I need to pick up, and you’re the only one around,” he says, motioning to the quiet dining room of the Lighthouse. Emmrich has probably already had breakfast—he gets up at first light, though telling time inside the Fade is a challenge. How that man manages to rise before anyone else is a mystery you’re not ready to tackle this early.

“Sure,” you sigh heavily, taking a bite of toast.

Once you’ve both wrapped up your morning routines, you head for the Crossroads. You let Davrin lead as you have no idea what the Grey Warden is up to. Still, following him and Assan feels like trailing something wild—and it bubbles excitement in your chest.

He stops at a familiar Eluvian. The reflection of Treviso dances on its glassy surface, and you swallow hard.

“Treviso?” The question escapes as an exhale. You haven’t been there in weeks. Surely the Antaam haven’t stirred up anything... right?

“Yeah. I figured you’d be the best person to join me here and…” he trails off, looking away. His ears tint red, but you miss that detail as he scratches the back of his neck.

“And?” you press, crossing your arms. Usually, there’d be at least one more person joining a trip through an Eluvian—especially one where things could go sideways. “Shouldn’t we at least invite Lucanis?”

Instead of answering, Assan jumps through the Eluvian, and Davrin gently grabs your hand to pull you through with him.

Familiar sights flood your vision, and the scent of the canals hits harder after time away.

“I’d rather not invite Lucanis tonight,” Davrin says with a quiet chuckle.

“Just you and me then?” you ask, but then something—or rather, someone—nudges your hand resting at your side.

“And Assan, of course,” you add, glancing down. “Though I doubt people will appreciate a griffon poking around their stalls.”

Assan coos sadly, and you can’t help but feel bad for the adventurous bird-lion.

“Then this is the perfect opportunity for him to learn some table manners,” Davrin quips, wrinkling his nose at his companion.

“Oh, true—Bellara will be thrilled to see him holding a fork and knife,” you jest. Both of you laugh, while Assan seems to spot something flying above.

“By the way,” you say, “you still haven’t explained why we’re here…”

“Ah, that…” he suddenly seems shy—something you never expected from him. He casually points toward the street below.

“What does that have to do with me?” you ask slowly, trying to sound stern and threatening—but the smile breaking across your face gives you away. So much for that Crow charisma.

“I thought you really wanted a cup of that coffee,” he says with a laugh, “and maybe I’d get to see what all the rage is about.”